


Breadcrumbs

by WandererRiha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pigeons, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: Reno was kind of like a pigeon; scruffy, scrappy, and wily beyond his years. There was something beautiful about him too. Like a bird, he was skittish around people, wary. He tried to shrug it off with humor and sarcasm, but Rude knew just by watching, just by looking, that only a gentle touch- strong enough to hold, soft enough to comfort- would keep Reno from flying away. So Rude watched and waited, baited him with crumbs of friendship, hoping Reno would want more.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15
Collections: FF7 Fanworks Exchange '20





	Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoneGravitas (AntiGravitas)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiGravitas/gifts).



If the slums had taught Rude anything, it was that you didn’t have to be only one thing. Everyone he knew had at least three jobs, a dozen hobbies, countless friends and family members where the line between the two was often fuzzy. You were often different things to different people, depending on when and where and how they interacted with you.

Rude had always been quiet. Still was. It was the first thing people noticed about him besides his height. He was tall for someone who’d grown up underplate where little sunlight and poor nutrition was the norm. When he got older, they noticed his strength. The neighborhood bullies and gangs soon learned to steer clear of him. But he wasn’t violent. Not at all.

“The hell, man?” Reno asked, elbowing through the rusty door that led to the top of the apartment building. “What’s with all the birds?”

“They’re pigeons,” Rude explained.

“Yeah no shit. Actually, _lots_ of shit…” Reno picked his way around splatters of pigeon guano toward Rude. “But why are they up here? In cages?”

“It’s a coop,” Rude corrected. “Giant-sized bird house. They can come and go as they please, but predators can’t get to ‘em here and they know it.”

“Yeah okay cool. Lots of feathered friends. _Why?_ ”

Rude smiled. “Racing.”

Rude had always loved birds. He’d heard others refer to the pigeons that roosted on narrow ledges, or the crooks of streetlamps as ‘feathered rats’, but it wasn’t true. Pigeons were smart, and brave, and sometimes a little reckless. An old man who lived in his apartment block had kept them as pets in a cote on the roof. It wasn’t easy to hold a pigeon without hurting it. You had to hold it tight enough that it couldn’t flap its wings, yet loose enough that you didn’t crush it. When Rude felt its tiny heartbeat in his hands, he felt as if he’d discovered the world for the first time.

“You can race birds?” Reno was perplexed. “I mean I know they used homing pigeons back in the old days, but aren’t birds kinda dumb?”

“They’re not dumb,” Rude said, defensive. “They just think different.”

It was a phrase he’d often used toward Reno himself. Reno was kind of like a pigeon; scruffy, scrappy, and wily beyond his years. There was something beautiful about him too. Like a bird, he was skittish around people, wary. He tried to shrug it off with humor and sarcasm, but Rude knew just by watching, just by looking, that only a gentle touch- strong enough to hold, soft enough to comfort- would keep Reno from flying away. So Rude watched and waited, baited him with crumbs of friendship, hoping Reno would want more. Which was why Rude had invited him to today’s race.

Reno looked away, cheeks briefly staining pink and shuffled his boots on the dirty concrete. “Yeah, okay. So how’d you teach a bird to cross a finish line?”

“It’s similar to homing, just a shorter distance.” Rude was carefully placing a selection of birds in a carrier. “They know the route, they know where home is, and where I am. They can figure it out. Birds are smart that way.”

“If you say so, dude.”

Pigeons could be taught, but before they could learn home, or to race, they had to learn to trust. Prey animals were naturally afraid of predators, and it wasn’t always easy to convince them otherwise. Unlike a dog or a cat, birds had longer memories and wouldn’t trade one or two handouts in exchange for freedom. There was always the risk that all your hard work would quite literally fly away. But if they came back...that was worth everything.

Reno kept sneaking glances at the pigeons as he and Rude made their way to the site where the race was being held. Reno seemed to be expecting the birds to make a fuss, to flap their wings and squawk at being shoved into a comparatively small crate. The birds, however, sat quietly in the hay, cooing to themselves now and then.

“They seem pretty chill,” he commended.

“S’cause they know they’re safe.”

Given that the site was practically on the other side of Midgar, a train ride and a lot of walking were involved. The site itself was nothing special; just an empty lot between two crumbling buildings with a lot of pigeon poop splattered everywhere. The owners of the other birds were an interesting cross-section of Midgar’s population: elderly slum-dwellers in thread-bare hand-me-downs, two Wutaian guys in fashions too loud for anywhere but the Wall Market, a couple of low-income Plate dwellers, a kid who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten there with her dad, and of course, the two Turks.

“So how’s this work, yo?” Reno asked as everyone else made small talk and admired each other’s birds.

“They all got a little tag on their leg with a microchip,” Rude explained. “We can track ‘em with GPS. Every bird flies the same distance back to their roost. First one to make it home wins.”

“Never took odds on a bird before,” Reno mused. “At least, not one that flies.”

Rude smiled. “No money, just bragging rights.”

“Oh right, the kid.” Reno smiled and winked for the girl who blushed and hit behind her father when he caught her looking at him.

“Even without the kid.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Reno huffed. “Where’s the fun in that.”

Rude allowed himself a smile. “You’ll see.”

One of the older gentleman approached the battered picnic table where the pigeon carriers had been set.

“Alright. Take your birds for release.”

Rude had brought two pigeons, both of which blinked placidly up at him without stirring as he lifted the lid to their box.

“Dang, really thought they’d take off,” Reno remarked.

“They know it’s not time, yet. You wanna hold one?”

“What, me?” Reno squeaked.

“Why not?”

“Won’t they like...peck me? Or claw me? Or shit on me?”

“Can’t guarantee that last one, but otherwise no.”

Rude reached into the box with both hands and gently closed them around the pigeon’s body, lifting her out of the crate.

“Like this. Not too loose, not too tight.”

Reno nodded. “Huh. Okay.”

He turned to the box, fingers poised, but hesitated. “I don’t wanna hurt it.”

“This isn’t her first race. Beatrice knows what to do. She’ll probably try to hop right into your hands.”

“If you say so.” Reno eyed the remaining bird with some trepidation. “Okay Bea, come to Uncle Reno.”

Surprisingly, Beatrice did exactly as Rude anticipated, automatically jumping into Reno’s hands as soon as he reached into the box. Reno fumbled with her wings slightly, clearly terrified of hurting her.

“You gotta use _some_ grip, otherwise she’ll think you’re gonna drop her.”

“Okay, okay!” Reno juggled the bird awkwardly, finally managing the right degree of pressure for her to settle. “Hey, I did it!”

“Can you feel her heart?”

“Yeah… Little pitter-pat.”

“That means she knows she’s safe.”

Reno smiled. “Aww… Who’s a good bird?”

Beatrice cocked her head and blinked beady yellow eyes at him.

“See? She likes you.”

Reno grinned. “Now what?”

“Racers take your places,” the old man said. Rude stepped up to stand in line with the others, Reno at his elbow.

“When he gives the word, just toss her into the air.”

“Toss her?!” Reno looked horrified.

“She’s a bird. She can fly.”

“Right. Duh. I knew that.”

“ON YOUR MARK! GET SET! GO!”

Rude tossed his pigeon into the air, Reno following his example half a beat later.

“Aw shit, she got a late start ‘cause of me.”

“That won’t slow her down. Watch.”

Reno squinted after the rapidly fading silhouettes of the birds.

“I can’t tell which one she is.”

“She’ll do a little barrel roll. Means she’s having fun. Watch.”

Sure enough, one of the birds- already out-distancing the others near the front of the pack- tucked its wings and twirled in mid-air.

“YEAH! GO BEATRICE!” Reno shouted. The others laughed, and shouted after their own birds as well.

“Right. Pigeon cheering not a thing,” Reno mumbled, cheeks red.

“We’re a low-key crowd,” Rude agreed.

“Now what?”

“We track them and head home to make sure they got there alright. Not that I’m worried. They’re smart girls.”

Beatrice and her fellow competitor were waiting to be fed by the time Rude and Reno returned to the apartment building. According to the pigeon tracker- an app appropriately called ‘Wing_IT”- Beatrice had won. To celebrate, Reno treated him to a drink at the bar around the corner.

“Sooo...when’s the next meet?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Rude smiled. Crumbs of friendship dropped carefully here and there had finally paid off. Reno wanted to come back. And that was worth everything.


End file.
